


Devil On the Isle of Dogs

by Cythieus



Category: Original Work, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-18 08:44:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11870727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cythieus/pseuds/Cythieus
Summary: Dead men walk the streets of Canary Warf and the FBI intrudes into Molly Hooper's Morgue; Molly is forced to enlist Sherlock's help to confront the occult, Moriarty, and matters of a checkered past that even the great detective couldn't have deduced.





	1. In Which Molly Makes an Unlikely Call

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a different thing for me since I started back with fan fiction. The characters of Lewis and Holly are mine and they're pretty well established and developed elsewhere. For those who don't know a diener is a person who works in a morgue. This all takes place sometime after the show's first season.

The pitter patter of the rain against the windows of the morgue wasn't ample distraction from her thoughts. Molly raked her trembling pale fingers back through her unkempt brown hair and tapped her feet, paced the floor, did anything to take her mind off the anticipation. Odd enough, she felt no fear from the impossible man that lay on her examination table.

Sherlock was coming and she had actually rang him herself. Something that she'd never done before. It was too much for her to even think about initiating conversation with him most days.

But he needed to see this. More than anyone else in the world he needed to see what she had here. A true mystery and one that she felt only he could solve. Despite her nervousness and unbearable need to have him notice her, she knew this was something grander.

And she wanted to find out what this was.

Molly smoothed her skirt down. Why had she bothered to wear a skirt today? Her legs were simply too skinny and he might notice or even make some comment. That's what Sherlock did, he noticed things and he commented on things and he turned her into a little mouse. Without having arrived yet he'd already reduced her to acting like a stupid little girl in sixth form.

She hated herself for it.

The victim of this killing, however he had died, was all wrong. Molly concentrated on the little that she knew about this man to get her mind off of Sherlock. She hadn't gotten past the Y-Incision and opening him up. He had died mere hours ago and maybe there had been some extenuating circumstances that explained the state of his skin and hair. But inside he was rotten, a rolling, terrible funk wafting up from his opened up carcass.

In an attempt to combat the smell she tossed an body bag over him and threw open all the windows. It had done a fair bit, but it wasn't enough. Molly took to residing on the other side of the room while she waited for…

"Sherlock…" she looked up when he came through the door the light sparkle of rain drops in his dark, thick curls. "Sorry if I disturbed something," his face was plain for a moment as if he were searching for something in her, looking at even the un-seeable.

"I was having a go at the violin," he smiled and obviously fake, light smile. "I didn't expect you to call, Lestrade lost his mobile?" he asked as he stripped out of his gloves and came to a pause near the middle of the room.

"No I—"

She was cut short as he spun and sniffed at the air sharply, his face crinkling with disgust. "The body over there is possibly two weeks old," he pointed. "You're usually more thorough than _that,_ " he crossed the room toward the body. "This one was just found, no…the time of death, this man died just _twelve hours ago?_ " he mused as he neared the table.

"It's why I called," Molly said nearing the table again and forced a half smile. Sherlock tore back the covering to reveal the splayed open form, its insides blacked and rotting. He drew back, as if the sheer power of the odor were too much for even him.

"He was a day trader, very posh, well manicured and a smoker by the looks of it," Sherlock studied the corpse's hand and looked around his face, his neck, his ears, tracing a path back up his arm in the process.

Molly nodded. "They brought him in a few hours ago and he looked fine then…there was a backlog and I couldn't…I couldn't get to him right away and by the time I did—"

"He had looked like this?" Sherlock said. "You did the right thing calling me."

And then he touched her, he honestly placed a hand on her shoulder and she could have sworn he squeezed it tenderly.

"Aren't there…chemicals that could cause this kind of thing, rapid decomposition?" Molly said trying to shake the sensation of her stomach doing cartwheels. She knew the truth of it but she felt the need to keep saying something, saying anything. She couldn't believe that she was speaking with Sherlock Holmes alone for this long.

"Chemicals? No…not to this degree."

"Then what…?"

Holmes was concentrating on the body for some time and it was as if he forgot to answer her question. "I don't know yet, I'm working through it…but some quiet would be nice," he said drawing his hand back from her arm. It was more like a warning than a personable suggestion.

And it was too good to last. Molly couldn't have expected to have him be nice to her for too long. He never seemed nice to anyone when it came to long term communication and when she thought about it, this felt good. She was fitting in with the other people in his life, what few there were, and he was interacting with her. She stepped back to watch him and as soon as she wasn't talking it was like he had forgotten her presence in the room. He muttered to himself in short phrases and leaned against various things between bouts of digging at the body of the deceased. As she stood at the other end of the lab she stopped wondering how a decomposing man had been walking around a few hours prior and started staring at Sherlock's lips, at the coil of curls sticking out over her forehead.

His lips parted and he spoke. "A yellow granulated substance is on some parts of the body, sulfur…"

"Wait...where?" Molly rushed over, adjusting her hair and stepping in next to Sherlock. For a split second she searched for the crystals of sulfur on the skin but then she noticed that she and Sherlock were pressed together at the side. His leg gliding lightly against hers. "I…see," she managed.

"The victim obviously worked in a production plant of some kind. There are at least two plants that produce Sulfuric acid in this area; we should just cross reference his name with any names on the list of workers in those places. Of course he could work in a fertilizer plant too…or a pesticide or herbicide one…but he's too posh for that…"

"Why are you trying to find where he worked? And did you say we?"

"Because when we find where he worked, we're going to be able to find out who he was and how he got like this. And yes, I did say we…Watson, despite my wishes, is out of town with Sarah," Sherlock said with an aura of disgust in his tone.

"I like Sarah, she's sweet," Molly said before she could stop herself.

A snort escape Sherlock, he was looking down at his cell phone now. His eyes flicked side to side as he scanned some web page or saved document. Molly craned her neck to try and get a better look but she couldn't. There was a long silence and he wrapped away on the touch screen for a moment and then suddenly locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "May I borrow you Mobile?" he asked.

"Well…sure," Molly handed hers over, blushing when she realized how embarrassing it must be. It was a small touch screen thing with a snap on case that she'd had made with Toby, her cat on it, the background was also a picture of Toby and herself. Her arm outstretched to get them both in the shot. She waited for the inevitable comment about the picture, even if it was something about the impracticality of the angle or lighting, but it never came.

Sherlock spoke again. "I needed yours, there's always the chance that my number could be recognized, but I just wanted to see something," he said

"Who are you texting?" she asked.

He never answered her. When he tossed the phone back to her it almost fell and by the time she looked at it the only thing on screen was a picture of a waste bin with the words _messages deleted_ flashing next to it.

"I don't understand…why did you do that?" asked Molly.

"Didn't want you reading it."

"But it's my phone," she quipped.

Sherlock made little acknowledgement of her last statement. "Seven PM sound good?" he asked. "Yes that should be enough time, be at my flat by seven PM and we'll start from there—" he was breaking for the doors already, slipping back into his gloves as his heels clicked at the tile floor.

"Time for what? Why do you need me at seven?"

"We're going to conduct an investigation, bring your things," he said and then he was gone out of the door with a soft rustling sound. Molly stood in the room with the fresh rotting corpse, unable to smell the stench of death or hear the pitter patter of the rain all because Sherlock Holmes had waltzed into her mortuary and noticed her, spoken to her and even asked her, specifically to help him.

She didn't know how long she stood there with a dumb smile on her face.

* * *

It was a little after nine AM central standard time, locally it was just past three in the afternoon. Lewis had never been one to get used to the jet lag quickly and it was no puddle hop from Texas to the United Kingdom. But at least the flight had been excessively short. There was an aura of urgency with this case, he had been lucky to come across the small, subtle clues in the paper when they were mentioned

The electrical storms coupled some of the crime in the city had tipped him off. It was a subtle science and he admitted it was mostly luck. Until he received the call that something was being delivered to a Hospital in London that he needed to see. He wasn't given any information on how the caller came about this or who the caller was, but he chased the lead further.

Local time was three thirty when their taxi pulled up in front of Saint Bart's Hospital. Lewis's expression softened as he regarded Holly, her huge green eyes were searching brick façade even before they stopped.

"Glad to be back?" he asked her.

A wry smile crept across her face and she nodded. "I'd say I'm feeling shattered more than anything else," she said.

"Must be hard to come home and feel like your time is off. All you want to do is sleep right?" he asked.

"Sleep and go by a nice authentic pub…maybe have some Sheppard's Pie or a roast with some Yorkshire Pudding…oooo or a Pork Pie…"

"You people are disgusting," Lewis said as he helped her out of the cab. "Putting fucking pork into a pie doesn't even sound edible."

Holly rolled her eyes. "Maybe it's like other things…you'll like it once you've had a taste," she said.

A short chuckle escaped Lewis. "That's not suggestive in the slightest," he said as they were going through the doors. It was drizzling, there had been a perpetual drizzle since they touched ground and Holly hadn't mentioned it. The little droplets clung to her jacket and the edges of her hair, in the florescent light of the hallways he caught a glimmer and Holly wanted to kick himself for noticing it. But that sensation soon passed and he was left with anticipation.

"Did you find out where the body was?" he asked.

"There's a mortuary a few floors up," she said pointing to a floor layout sign. It was a short journey up to the morgue and for whatever reason there was total silence in the lift. They found the room, numbered M105, halfway down a hall full of other mortuaries and labs. Before Holly could lift her had to knock Lewis went on and pushed through the door with a brazen gait as he stepped into the room.

A startled woman looked up from a bowl of pot noodles. "Oh, I wasn't expecting—may I help you?" she got to her feet and wiped her hands on a napkin that sat near the edge of an empty counter top.

Lewis flipped his badge out. "It's come to our attention that you've got something of interest to my division under your care, Miss…" he said taking a pause to read her badge, "…Molly Hooper."

"Oh," she said seemingly slightly taken aback. "An American," she smiled warmly. "I'm not sure what I could have in here that the FBI would be interested in…and I've never heard of Eden division."

 _She'd read the badge,_ Lewis thought, _smart girl_.

"Not many people have," Lewis said. "I'm Special Agent Lewis Reynolds and this is my partner," he regarded Holly. "Officer Holly Prescott."

Holly came forward slowly and gave a curt nod. "We're sorry if we disrupted your tea," Holly said.

A smile crept across the woman's face. "Holly and Molly that's cute. You're from around here?" she asked.

"Born in Manchester, I transferred to the US as…kind of an agent exchange program," Holly trailed off. "But would you mind if we took a look around—promise to ask before we remove anything from the lab…" Holly said.

"It seems like something is always being removed from the lab," Molly giggled nervously. "But sure, by all means have a look around. I have to be somewhere later tonight…so I might have to tell one of the ward assistances to keep close…"

Holly was always so personable; Lewis had to admit that it helped in situations like this that could have easily gone badly.

"Doctor Hooper," Lewis started. "It's a little unusual to have a diener with a Doctorate?" he asked noticing her badge.

Molly gazed down at the plastic encased badge clasped to the breast of her lab coat and smiled what would seem to be her first honest smile. "It's not required…I just…I don't really think I'm best for treatment of the living. There's no more mistakes to be made with the dead and they need someone who knows what they're doing to care for them…" she might have said more but something called her to a stop.

Lewis smiled at her. "Just something I noticed," he said strolling out a way from where she stood. "Speaking of which, have you seen anything particularly strange come through here in the last few days?"

"No," Molly said. "Nothing that would interest the FBI, anyway," she added.

"You'd be surprised what would interest the FBI," Lewis winked.

"Oh," Molly said. "Well you're welcome to a look around the place and I'll have them lock up when you're done if I'm gone," she said picking up her bowl and spoon. "Don't let me get in the way of your investigation," she was out the door and headed down the hall before Lewis could ask her for any more information.

"That woman knows something, she might not know something relevant but something interesting definitely crossed her path…" Lewis said.

"Why did you flirt with her so shamelessly, the poor thing, you should be ashamed of yourself," Holly said.

Lewis rolled his eyes. "I didn't flirt with her, I was being nice. You're just jealous."

Holly's cheeks flashed a shade of red and she bit back something. Lewis could tell she was holding her tongue. "Help me look through these lockers, please," she said in a small submissive tone.

"I'll start down here," Lewis pointed to the far corner of the room. "You get that side."

* * *

"Is that a British Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"Both," Sherlock responded and he was aiming the gun at Jim from across the pool. Molly watched from her hiding place with Sarah, peeking up over the top of window sill. Jim was there with Sherlock and Watson and it looked as if there was a bomb strapped around Watson's body. It was hard to believe, she couldn't even bring herself to start to think it but all those bombings and there was something about Jim and the way he was speaking now. It was so unlike him, so unkind and heartless.

"Jim Moriarty," he introduced himself and the gun was still trained on him.

Sherlock's motions were different, they weren't as cool and were far less frantic and as Molly tried to piece this all together and held her breath for fear she'd be noticed she couldn't help but feel strange to see him like this. He had always been so collected and this was something that truly made him nervous. She had heard his house was partially blown up and then hours later he was in the morgue like nothing had happened.

This was different, Sherlock looked like he had been taken down some and furthermore he looked insulted by it. She had never seen the contempt in his face he was showing for Jim. And then Jim explained himself, loud and clear and Molly couldn't help but feel the wind go out of herself. This man had been in her home, played with Toby and she had even thought about letting him sleep with her and now every little time they had touched raced through her mind and she just felt tainted.

_Playing gay? Playing Jim from IT?_

Jim saw it all as a joke but it wasn't funny. He had set himself up with Molly just for this reason. Or had he? Had he spend weeks talking to her on her blog, talking to her about television shows and music and laughing with her and teaching her things? Before she realized it she was crying. Sarah was locked on the sight of Watson wrapped in the bomb and there was no way she could have noticed Molly's tears.

Molly missed much of the next part of the conversation; she was looking but couldn't process what she was seeing. But there was an audible sigh of relief in the air when Jim just seemed to let them go. He walked out of the room just like that. Sherlock rushed up to rip the bomb vest off Watson and it was flung halfway back up toward the door Jim had left out of. Both of the men were frantic, Sherlock pacing up and down, checking different areas of the pool and with Watson collapsed down onto the floor.

As the room was searched, Molly wondered if Sherlock had noticed her and Sarah.

It was unlike him to miss anything but given the high concentration a situation like this would have taken Molly would understand if he did. He was checking around the room just when she looked at Sarah and as if on cue Sarah mused. "We shouldn't let them know we saw this…" she said. Molly nodded her agreement.

The door to the pool room burst open and Sarah and Molly hunkered down as Jim walked back in the room with such a jolly gait that he might have been coming to make friends with Sherlock and John…

But there were sniper sights trained on them, maybe half a dozen and Jim was explaining himself. "You can't be allowed to continue…"

Molly didn't know what crossed her mind, the next thing she knew Sherlock was aiming his gun down at the bomb pack where Watson had thrown it off and she moved for the door. The snipers wouldn't be looking for her, wouldn't be waiting for her and if she was right the cops would be there soon, she had called them and that's how Sarah and she had found Sherlock…that's how they followed him.

Sarah was somewhere behind her, lost in her running and she knew that if she could just get there she could do something. She could stop Jim or grab him or something. She didn't know where these thoughts came from, she might never know but when she dashed out of the door behind Jim, Sherlock glanced up, his eyes locking with Jim's and then both of them turned toward her.

"Molly! How good of you to join us, you remember, Sherlock—don't you?"

She froze and Jim walked over, grabbing her at the arm and shoving her forward. She stumbled down the poolside until she was off to Sherlock's side, between him and Watson. And she could literally feel them, the little red dots from the sniper rifles zeroing in on her. Suddenly they weren't on Watson and Sherlock, they were just on her.

"You dumb bitch, you occupied your purpose already and your act is over. You should have never…been…here," Jim said.

Molly was frozen, rooted in place by the small pin points of crimson light.

"I may have my reservations about killing my little playmate and his pet here," Jim said and then he turned to Sherlock, "and believe me I do, but you can die just as easily as this, right here…" a smile crept over Jim's face and he strode forward. "No more episodes of _Glee_ , no more of your pathetic attempts at a real friendship with that god-awful cat Toby, no more Molly…"

Watson was fast. He lifted his leg and kicked her in the hip, hard. She careened into Sherlock.

But something else happened. There must have been some unseen signal, some procedure that they were following to protect her. Because Sherlock took over the motion that Watson had started… _and Sherlock was faster._

He pulled her close, hugging her tight to his person and twirling toward the pool. A gunshot went off and then three more shots closer by. _The bullets can't get them under water—Sherlock would know that, he did know that_.

Hitting the water took what seemed like an eternity and Watson was right behind them. The moment before they splashed through the surface of the pool there was a blinding flash of light. Moriarty fell back, the bullet burning against the vest he wore. It seemed that he had thought to wear this even though he didn't expect to be shot. He was planning, always planning.

The dim ambience created by the pool's soft yellow light shimmering off the surface would have been romantic if it wasn't for the situation. The water was clouded with blood and by the time they dragged Sherlock's body from the water, Jim was gone and Sarah was rushing in to help them.

A pair of bullets had hit Sherlock, one dangerously close to the heart and the other in the stomach. Her mobile was wet and she couldn't call for help and here she was holding Sherlock Holmes, who had just saved her life and now he was dying…all because she had been stupid. She knew that if he could have been more coherent he would have pointed it out. He would make some quip about her looking fatter or having a small mouth or about her 'I Love the 80's' side ponytail but he didn't.

He just lay in her arms with that glossed over look in his eyes.

* * *

Molly awoke in the darkened on call room with tears in her eyes and her lunch next to her on the table. Her phone was vibrating against the wood next to her and when she looked down at the number it was Sherlock. Why was he trusting her, she had messed up before. She had almost gotten him killed and here he was bringing her along on a case?

It was growing dark outside and when she read the message she couldn't believe that she was going through with this, she was going to Sherlock's flat on Baker's Street.

She threw the remainder of her food out, knowing she couldn't eat. But if she was going to go over there she had an hour to go home, change clothes, grab some things and get the Tube back to where he lived. She might as well not reek of pot noodles and dead people when she goes over there and his message had said to dress up.


	2. In Which a Dinner Party Takes Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly attend a dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally published and written back in 2011 when I was at the height of my Sherlock and Molly shipping. Reposting it from another site that it's been on.

"Sherlock Holmes, this is his, correct?" Molly asked as she looked up into the door of 221B Baker Street at the face of a prim older woman with auburn hair cropped low around the top of her head. She didn't look to be related to Sherlock, but it was possible.

The woman beamed a smile and opened the door wider. "Oh you're looking for Sherlock, how nice of him to have a lovely young woman by," the woman motioned to usher Molly in. "He's been a bit of a recluse lately, but he is such a dear most of the time…"

"Are you his mother?" Molly asked her cheeks still burning hot.

"Oh heavens no, I'm just the landlady," she said as they started up the narrow staircase that wound up into the second floor of the building. They stepped into an open parlor where Sherlock lay back on his couch, unmoving and unblinking. His pale blue eyes were locked on one spot on the ceiling and he never bothered to let on if he had noticed them.

"Sherlock, this young woman has come to see you," said the landlady.

"Molly is welcome to come in. Thank you Miss Hudson," Sherlock said and there was a hint of warmth in his voice. He sounded almost personable.

Miss Hudson quickly left, muttering to herself about the state of the place as she went and Molly was alone with Sherlock in the drawing room of his flat. She let out a short nervous giggle and writhed her fingers together. "I like…what you've done with the place," Molly quipped finally.

The flat certainly was interesting, from the stacks of books residing on nearly every flat surface to the chemistry set occupying the counter space in the kitchen. The place didn't seem particularly dirty but there was so much clutter and one of it seemed to hold any kind of organization that she could see…Molly imagined that it must have been much like his mind.

"Let's get something straight," Sherlock started just as he was sitting up onto the couch. "Don't you ever think that you can lie to me…"

"I didn't. I was just…making conversation," Molly said aiming her eyes down at the floor.

Holmes's eyes flicked up and down over her rapidly and in an instant he was talking. "You were told to dress nice, yet you come to me ten minutes before we're required to leave dressed like that. Though I'm glad you bothered to remove your ponytail," he bounded off of the couch and moved toward her. Molly froze as he approached.

His fingers slipped back into her hair and he was lifting all of it away from her neck. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"We're going to need to do something about your hair," Sherlock said.

"You're going to…style my hair?" she asked.

"Certainly not. I don't know the first thing about it," he said turning away from her and walking across into the kitchen. "We are going to purchase you a new dress," he said. "I need you to do something for me tonight."

"Okay…"

"I need you to be sexy; could you do that for me?"

Molly thought the embarrassment might cause her to explode. "What…what for?"

"We're going to attend a dinner party, there's an expert there…or as close to an expert as one can get with this kind of thing," said Holmes. "He won't answer my calls though as he's rather paranoid, doesn't carry a mobile so we're going to need to blend and engage him in person."

"Why do you need me?"

Sherlock dropped to sit on the couch, pressing his finger tips together in front of his face. "Because I'm not welcome many places by many people, but with you there and a subtle disguise I can pass undetected," he clapped and sprang off of the couch and stepped onto and over the coffee table. "We'll purchase a dress on the way, ah this will work!"

He clasped her at the arm, pulling her along to follow him toward the door of the place. When Molly looked over the expression that he wore was something familiar, there was energy there and what almost looked like delight. Then the realization washed over her, he had found some small challenge in fixing her up, like it was a new mystery.

* * *

It was another hour before they were in the back of a cab on the way to the location of the dinner party. Molly sat awkwardly with the small leather clasp purse pressed down into her lap. Sherlock certainly had an exact idea about what he wanted her to look like and she was instantly aware that anything she could have managed wouldn't have worked. The dress he had put her in was deep violet with small purple flowers embroidered on it. The fabric hugged her skin and, in this dress, Molly felt that she actually had curves!

Some part of her had forgotten that.

Sherlock had asked one of the girls behind the store to pin Molly's hair up as nicely as possible and she had to admit she had done a good job. She had handled her own makeup, that much she could do. But when she found out the dress was two hundred and fifty pounds she didn't know what to say.

Holmes seemed to have some form of dress version of the attire he usually wore, the long, billowing coat and the scarf. All of them dark in color and utterly lavish, more so than normal. As an addition he was carrying a dress cane.

"You can keep the dress, you know," Sherlock said. "If that's what's bothering you…I'm certainly too lazy to take it back to the store and knowing my nights out it might get more than one bodily fluid sprayed across the stitch work…"

Molly giggled, covering her mouth as her face reddened again. Perhaps Sherlock had no idea how wrong what he had just suggested sounded, but she did. He glared at her but she stopped laughing in her own time. "Thank you though," she said. "It's a very lovely dress; I shall try and…take care of it."

"When we arrive we're to find an African by the name of Darweshi, he's a former priest who left the church because he disagreed with their stance on something," said Sherlock.

"Pedophilia?" asked Molly.

"The Devil…Darweshi believed that the Devil should be combated constantly and that to not do so was foolish. He even said the Devil walks among men," Sherlock said in a flat tone.

"You believe in that?" asked Molly.

He stared at her, half glaring. "I believe that the person who lies on the table in your mortuary is the victim of someone who might have believed in that. It could be that someone preserved a body for some ritualistic purpose, preserving the outside thought some means and only dropping it for some reason when they hadn't any need for it any longer…"

Molly's words caught in her throat, it was hard for her to contradict Sherlock. The last time he had told her she was wrong it had been about Jim. "But—up until the other day this man was walking around and going to work. He was in some financial firm, people there had seen him I'm sure."

Sherlock held a finger up and smiled condescendingly. "Oh how the unimaginative and stupid have such a small box of thought in which they operate." Molly sunk back into the seat of the cab, suddenly feeling like a mouse again. Her large eyes turned upward as she tried not to let his comment get to her. He continued speaking, "There must be more at play here, a twin brother or someone with a very good plastic surgeon, perhaps some disguise artist. I haven't figured it out yet. But that man couldn't have decomposed to that level in only half a day."

"I think you're over thinking things," Molly didn't know what had come over her.

The cab was pulling up to a stop, a wet curb alongside a great towering house that seemed to occupy its own block. "Well then, it's a good thing that I only brought you along to look pretty," Sherlock said.

They disembarked from the car and Molly held her tongue for the next several moments, feeling tremendously proud that she'd even managed as much as she had said. The cars around them were a distraction enough, Molly had never seen so many nice cars in one place. If the blokes from _Top Gear_ were here they'd cum themselves by now. Lamborghinis, Rolls-Royces, Porsches—there was easily two million quid driving around out here.

"Try to look like you belong," Sherlock chided. "Don't stare."

"How did you get invited to this?" she asked.

"The person throwing it happens to be an old acquaintance," Sherlock said.

Molly nodded. "Right, someone you rescued from jail time?"

"My old cocaine dealer," he explained as they rounded onto the walkway.

That caught Molly off guard; it was something she never expected to have happen like this. Sherlock talking about his past and there was drugs involved. She had seen drug addicts before, Hell she had seen them fired from Bart's because well…they stole. They walked into the front door and it seemed that the man there already knew them, before she could ask about it they were walking into a lavish hall with an ornate chandler and marble floors. Molly almost stopped in her tracks.

Sherlock was close to her ear as they neared the archway that cut between the rounded stair case that came around them from either side. "When I lift your hand above your head," he grasped her hand gently, "I need you to twirl, do you understand?"

"What?"

"I don't want to stand out, we've got to just pass through the arch and onto the floor seamless," he said and ahead of them she could see now, everyone twirled as they walked in. She didn't say anything as they crossed the threshold and he raised her hand up high and they twirled out to the floor.

"Mister and Missus Sherlock Holmes," announced a man from somewhere off to the side.

Molly beamed with pride, she couldn't believe it. They thought they were married.

"Dammit!" Sherlock hissed, rushing her to the side of the room.

"What?"

"I didn't want them to announce us, we were to come in like that so as to not draw attention," Sherlock explained. He offered Molly his elbow. "We're going to have to work on a smaller time table now, stick close."

Molly pointed up to the far side of the room where a very dark skinned man was standing in a crisp white suit that looked like it cost more than Molly's flat. There was a large cross medallion hanging from his coat like a pocket watch. "Is that Mister Darweshi?"

"Brilliant eye, Molly. Come there's little time for us to catch up to him and then we can…"

Sherlock's voice was drowned out mid sentence by an effeminate male calling out to them. "Sherlock, Molly—it seems that things certainly have changed since we last saw each other, so nice to have the old gang back together…" pushing his way between the crowd of people was Jim Moriarty…gay Jim…Jim from IT.

Molly's entire body went rigid. She could feel the blood draining from her face. Jim was limping slightly, more than likely a product of the gunshot Holmes had delivered to him. His beady eyes darted between the two of them and as he neared he leaned in and kissed Molly on the side of her face. She unintentionally let out an audible whimper.

"You should be proud of yourself, Sherlock. You escaped my influence without nearly as much harm as I had hoped to inflict," a smile spread across his face. "Though this is just as well, you're more fun for me alive," he said.

"Be a dear, Molly and grab us some drinks," Sherlock released her arm from his and it seemed to snap her back to reality.

"Drinks, right."

"Oh now that was rather rude of you, Sherlock. We've hardly had the time to catch up! And I have to say I'm surprised to see this, you on a date with my leftovers—how is it that you get these little marionettes to dance so obediently for you?" he caught Molly by the arm.

"You're hurting me."

"Leave her be, Moriarty."

He was squeezing her hand, he was so strong. And he leaned close, smiling all the while and spoke in a sneer. "Did you tell him yet? Did you tell him how you tried to entice me? How you tried to get me into bed. Denying you was part of the fun, not because it tortured you but because to have intercourse with you would have been torture to me…"

Sherlock's cane caught Moriarty swiftly in the ribs causing him to loosen his grasp on her arm and stagger back. Holmes stepped in and grasped him at the shoulders. "Are you alright old friend?" he asked. He turned to a drink person, obviously feigning concern; at least obvious to Molly, "my friend here has something caught in his throat," he grabbed a pair of waters off the tray and handed one to Moriarty.

Molly stood there, tears welling up in her eyes as she watched Holmes pretend to be friends with Moriarty for the sake of their investigation. She could hardly think of the case anymore. As Sherlock was patting Jim on the back she saw Jim reach up and dribble something into Sherlock's drink. She was too late to rush forward and grab him and Moriarty pushed away.

Startled Sherlock stumbled backward toward Molly and she grabbed him around the shoulders. No one else had noticed. No one seemed to even see the three of them.

"Oh Sherlock, I don't want to kill you, but I can't have you getting in the way of what I'm working on, not this time," said Moriarty and he slipped back into the crowd.

Molly clutched Sherlock and she could feel him waning, he was coughing probably more psychosomatic than real as it had been too soon. "Are you…what do you want me to do?" she asked. Sherlock started for the stairs with Molly supporting him. A man was standing there guarding first riser, "Please, my-my husband is sick…" she must have sounded frantic. She wasn't acting.

The man nodded them up and it was hard, but she got Sherlock into the first bedroom that she could find. She lay him down and crawled onto the bed, Holmes lay there still for a moment. "The water tasted sweet, very sweet…I should have known…"

"Don't get worked up, it'll only lessen the time we have. How do you feel?" she asked.

"Strange…but you're going to have to do it Molly, you're going to have to find Darweshi…."

"I'm not leaving you to die," Molly said. "I don't trust that it was just some harmless thing and I'm not letting you die." Molly crawled up on top of him, straddling him and prying his eyes open and checking to see if she could find any sign of what he'd drank. "He poured it in there…it was lime green, like a green apple lolly…"

"Molly, please…leave me be it won't kill me outright, I'm sure…"

"No!" Molly hollered. "I'm not leaving you, you bloody…just shut the Hell up for once and let somebody fucking care about you!" she was crying and she must have looked a mess but it was the last thing on her mind. "It was sweet and lime green…sweet…"

"Maybe he sought to poison me with sour apple candy syrup," Sherlock chuckled.

Molly looked down at him. "No, you just…please be still…there's something…I can do this Sherlock just…" it was then she realized that she was straddling Sherlock Holmes with her face stained with tears and his cold blue eyes looking back up at her. Instinctively she bent down and kissed him. "Sorry, but I want to hear you complain about it when you're okay in a bit…I know what I need to do I think…I figured it out."

She bounded off of him. "I'll be right back, I just need to find something," and then she was gone.


	3. In Which Molly Commits Auto Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly steals a car.

When Sherlock awoke Detective Inspector Dimmock was hovering nearby with a Styrofoam cup of hot tea, he cracked a slight smile. "Looks like you're back in the world of the living, Holmes," he said with a slight smirk. Something in the look on Holmes's face clued him in. "Confused, I take it?" asked Dimmock.

"Where am I?" a television droned on in the background about interrupted shipping schedules because of weather as Sherlock asked.

"Saint Bart's Hospital, Doctor Hooper's been keeping close watch on you," Dimmock said. "You owe that woman a great debt of gratitude, she broke a few laws saving your life," he cracked a smile.

"What…"

Dimmock sat the tea down. "That's for you," he pointed to the cup. "Hooper's never had as much as a speeding ticket. But she got one and committed motor vehicle theft just to get you out of there in a timely fashion…don't worry, the car's been returned and no charges were pressed…"

"Where is she now?" asked Sherlock.

"There were some tests she wanted to check in on, she's taken off from work and been here by your side all this time. I stopped by a few times because Lestrade has been…well out of town—there's been something of a strange thing happening and most of Scotland Yard's in an uproar, but I fear I've said too much."

Sherlock hefted the tea and it looked like quite a struggle for him to just get it to his lips. "What could have the entire department up in arms like that," he smiled wryly over the top of his cup.

"Oh no…Doctor Hooper told me to refrain from telling you _anything_ to do with a case, that one knows you good it seems," Dimmock said. "I'd better go before you try and get more out of me." He was turning to leave and Sherlock lifted his free hand high up into the air to wave in short awkward motions. Dimmock had to wonder what he was doing, what he was thinking. The things inside that man's mind…it was a horrifying thought.

* * *

Molly almost dropped the tray when she returned to the room to find Sherlock sitting up in bed scouring his mobile for what she could figure must have been clues. At first he didn't acknowledge her at all and she staggered over to his bed a smile plastered on her face. "Sherlock! You're awake."

"Yes. I can't tell you thank you enough, Dimmock seems to think you were quite brilliant," he said only gazing at her for a short time. He turned back to his phone and then did a double take. "I see you've let your hair down."

"Oh…you noticed it?" Molly said reaching up and running her hand down through the side of her hair.

"Of course. You look simply ravishing like that."

"It kind of just happened, I didn't have anything to tie it up with and I've been showing here and wearing extra scrubs from my locker…I didn't want to leave you here alone too long and I thought that it would be best to let it dry like this and…Hell, I'm rambling." The thought occurred to her that the last time she saw him truly conscious she had kissed him, it hadn't left her head all day and she wondered how someone her age could turn into a little girl over a man. She shook the thought. "What are you doing?"

"Since you lost our lead I'm trying to find us a new one. It will take too long to find Darweshi again. He's a paranoid man, Molly and…"

"I didn't lose him. He and I spoke the next day and he told me what we would need to know, I looked into the books and some of the other information he gave me, took some doing," Molly said.

"Brilliant," Sherlock said.

"Thank you."

"Now then, how long have I been here?" he asked.

"Three days, they told me that if had been a few hours later we would have been looking at permanent brain damage and you would have had to go on dialysis possibly," she said. "But I knew what to tell them when I got here and how to slow the poison down…"

Sherlock seemed puzzled and for him to express that said a lot. "How did you know what the poison was?"

"It was a long shot really, you said it was sweet and I saw it was lime green. A few months back the vet was checking Toby out and asked if he had been near any radiator fluid. When I asked why he explained that it was really sweet and dogs and children would drink it, it's fatal and even when it's not it can be really deadly. It's not something you'd expect, we got lucky really…"

He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before and he continued to stare for a long time. "Tests, always the little tests, that's what he does," Holmes was referring to Moriarty. "He must have known in some capacity I would be okay, though I doubt he'd thought you'd be the one to do it. How did you get me out of the mansion and into a car?"

"I cleared off one of the wheeled dinner carts, brought it round, dragged you onto it and took it down the lift to the service entrance, when I got there some of the wards helped me get you out and they started treating you immediately because I knew what the poison was…"

"Guessed what the poison was, it was a gamble…"

"Yes, but it was a good guess," Molly said.

"That it was, must have been riveting," he said.

"It was horrifying. I thought you might die or lose a limb or even have brain damage," Molly said sounding somewhat frantic as the thoughts played over in her head again.

Sherlock moved forward in the bed. "Well you performed wonderfully," he said. "Now did you bring the notes you gathered from Darweshi?"

"They're in your study," she said. "But I think this is where I get out of this whole thing, I can't do this with you…I was wrong to think I ever could help you with an investigation to this level."

"Molly wait…"

"DI Lestrade will be coming to pick you up, he told me to tell you that _he won't be bringing a police car_ , _so you have no need to worry,_ " she was gathering her coat up and grabbing at the handle of a small overnight bag.

"Why didn't you ring the authorities?" asked Sherlock.

"I know you're a recovering drug addict," Molly said plainly. "The long sleeves, the needle marks on your arms…I noticed them when I got your coat off. I figured that you might not like the police being involved," she said as she neared the door. "Well…I'll see you around the morgue Sherlock, please be careful," and with that, Molly was out the door.

* * *

Lewis's back dropped against the huge shipping yard crates drinking in the air as the stillness washed over the Port of London. He ejected the magazine from his gun, checking it as he spoke. "No wonder you left, Holly. Your country sucks camel dick."

"Glad to see you're appreciative of all that Great Britain has to offer," she said with a sarcastic drawl to her voice.

"Let's be honest, the _Great_ hasn't been applicable for a while now," Lewis said.

Holly smirked. "America's not exactly a spring chicken anymore either," she picked herself up from the spot where she'd taken cover to check the opposite side of the shipping yard. "What is it you want to take the piss out on us about this time?"

Lewis dusted himself off and came to Holly's side. "Well, for one we just had a shoot out with some British gangsters. I'm not complaining about the shoot out part—I actually like a good shoot out, its where I shine…"

"I'll give credit where credit's due," Holly said.

"But what bothers me is that your criminals are _reduced_ to using crossbows," he said.

"Guns are illegal, they probably assembled them themselves…" she said.

"Explain why they were dressed like they were going to a Harry Potter book release?" asked Lewis.

Holly shrugged. "Can't be positive on that…I haven't seen that before…outside of Harry Potter book releases…" when she realized what she had said, Holly could only blush.

Lewis shook his head. "Wait," he said. "Robes, do you think we could be dealing with cultists?" asked Lewis.

"Cultists? Dead men walking around? Strange weather patterns, this is shaping up to be a proper case, yeah?" Holly said.

"Yeah but we had to kill our only leads so far," Lewis said. "The morgue didn't pan out and there seems to be someone one step ahead of us leading us just where they want us to be." They headed back toward the car on foot, it was a long way back out of the shipping yard.

Holly smirked. "You're paranoid, everything is always some apocalyptic conspiracy," she said. "How many cults have we busted? They're usually seeking wealth or immortality and they're never barking up the wrong tree…"

"I want you to look at something," Lewis said as he pulled out his phone. "This is more than our average case," he said as he wrapped away at the screen. He held the phone out for her to see after a few seconds and Holly took it, looking over what seemed to be a weather map.

"What is that? Is that…is this England?" she pointed to the screen.

Lewis nodded. "This weather mass covers most of the Northern Atlantic and Europe, it's like a giant super cell storm…I noticed it earlier. That's why the rain has stopped here for the time being…but its collapsing inward on London."

"What could cause that?"

"Something really serious…think I'm being paranoid now?" asked Lewis.

* * *

 

Whatever the intention had been when she returned home, Molly hadn't expected it to end up like this. She was perched in the middle of her bed with the blankets swirled around her waist. The entire room smelled like liquor. While she hardly drank, it had seemed an appropriate response to what happened and it would be the perfect excuse.

More than anything Molly was embarrassed at her reaction; the crying had been the least of it. Part of her wanted to hate Sherlock Holmes and everything that he stood for. Maybe they could finally be even now, he'd taken a bullet for her and she'd saved his life from some very lethal poison. Maybe when he swept into her morgue the next time flashing those big eyes she can finally look him in the face and say she's got him out of her system.

She got up to shower, stumbling through the intoxication as she fought to get into her bathroom. Toby was nowhere to be seen; no doubt her behavior had scared the cat. Before long she was in the shower and the hot water was washing over her, it had been over a day since her last proper shower. In her mind it was far too long. Molly had tripped and stumbled her way into soreness, though it wasn't all that had happened. When she left the hospital and started to drink, she considered finding some bloke at a pub to get off with. Maybe she'd let him do more and though this wasn't like her at all…it wasn't something she had ever done. She felt that it was just one more way to wash out anything she harbored for Sherlock. In the end she had taken the matter into her own hands, but it hadn't saved her from the shame.

That was something she couldn't wash off.

There was a loud meow from somewhere near the front of her flat and a moment later there was a boisterous knock. She stopped the water. "Just a minute!" she hollered. Molly climbed clumsily out of the tub and threw a towel around herself. "Who is it?"

There was no answer.

She made her way to the door, clutching the towel at her breasts and there was more knocking. "Who's there?" she asked.

When she looked out of the peep hole she saw Sherlock's huge blue eyes staring back at her. "Open the door, Molly."

She flung the door open. "What do you want? And…how the bloody Hell do you know where I live?"

Sherlock's eyes traced a line around her, scanning her apartment and then her in a flash. "You're a creature of convenience, Molly. Nearest flat to Saint Bart's…I checked the listings out front and lied to the doorman to get in," he said.

"Classic. You're not just going to come to my work and ruin things from here on, you're going to be doing it at my home now too?" Molly said, she could tell she was slurring her speech but she didn't care. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

"You've got a crush on me, though I can't understand why. It would seem that tonight has been a particularly bad one though. You're inebriated, vodka and rum from the smell of it and you took to trying to call an old boyfriend…the book on the desk is covered in phone numbers, your phone's newer than your last relationship. When I last checked it not many men's names in it and you had to resort to old record keeping methods to get at them. You didn't add them to the phone because they're not something you hold as part of your current life. You reconsidered it though, the phone's nowhere near the book, I can tell the apartment's not usually in this state because look at the other parts…no mess, no clutter. Everything has its own neat place and you can see the dust around where you moved things. From the state of your eyes you've been crying…and from the state of that drawer and your bed coverings you've been masturbating. Have I hit all the finer points?" he asked.

"How did you…never mind. Just, God this is so embarrassing," Molly stumbled back into her room and Sherlock let himself in. Toby was rubbing himself against the side of Sherlock's pant leg as he closed the door. "This is so bloody embarrassing do you have any idea?"

Sherlock glanced down at the cat and stooped to pet its head. "Everyone masturbates Molly."

"Even the _great_ Sherlock Holmes?" asked Molly with a tinge of disdain in her tone.

"Of course not, there's hardly time for that. Come along Molly," he said.

"What?"

"I need you, I need someone to work with me, so please Doctor Hooper don't make me employ much more brazen methods to coerce you. If I can manipulate you when you're sober I'd hate to see what I could do while drunk…"

"You can't tell someone you're going to do it and do it," she said.

"I can. Now come, you're hardly realizing the finer point here. I need your help…this case is something big," Sherlock said. "The notes you took were brilliant and with them already I've found some very interesting things."

Molly sighed. "Can I at least get my clothes?"

Sherlock threw his coat over her. "There, no one will know you're not dressed. There's precious little time Molly—the body from your examination room has vanished and there were some murders at the docks…more dead men, these carrying crossbows," Sherlock put and arm around her and guided her out of the apartment. "I'll buy you more clothes, the game is afoot, Molly! Come along, Holmes and Hooper's greatest adventure…I shall dictate the finer details to my blogger…"

He drew her onto her bed slippers and out of the door to the apartment, grabbing the keys as they went. Sherlock only returned briefly to snatch Toby up.


End file.
